


The Wait

by LazarusPitHotTub



Series: Snapshots [2]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: A more optimistic view, A spin on current events, F/M, from Tessa’s POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 04:18:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16846972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazarusPitHotTub/pseuds/LazarusPitHotTub
Summary: “...they are called Canada’s sweethearts, they play the good children once again. It feels good. It feels right.”Oneshot musings on CWOF and the year so far.





	The Wait

Japan is an absolute dream. They have the other skaters taunting them about being Olympic champions who don’t understand that their music is supposed to be sad and they shrug and laugh it off easily, meeting eyes in the dim backstage. She has his calloused hands untying the knots in her shoulders each evening, the model of a perfect partner’s reassurance. He beams in the photos, uncaring that his hair is now greasy and too long to manage for much longer.

 

He tells her he’s ready for them, for children. For the rest of their lives. She freezes. She’s scared. She tells him she only needs time. Just. Time. But as with time, and like the pattern of clockwork, he moves on. He has never known how to be alone. She’s used to it by now.

He’s either with her on the ice or the girlfriend off.

 

The thank you tour is wonderful. Fulfilling and thrilling, if she were to tell the media about it. Her life is wonderful. Even when he doesn’t join her for his birthday at the cottage like they planned, she’s not worried. It always comes down to the two of them. He had made this decision so many times before and he had always ended up choosing her. Why would this time be any different?

 

They go to a gala event, they take one picture and the ravenous hordes descend on them all. Her, him, and the girlfriend. Like fucking clockwork. Cara’s emails ping her computer the next morning advising damage control to both her and him. Part of her wants to laugh, she’s not concerned about the girlfriend, so why should everyone else be?

 

The pictures from Japan are still on her phone, the photos from the Olympics, too. She posts her only personal one from the day of the gold medal and something catches her eye. Another picture sent by her sister that same day. It’s him. Him and her. And he’s beaming wildly, head pressed against hers. They’re on the podium and she’s never seen herself or him more joyful and at peace, the sculpt of their bodies worked to absolute function. She notes how they both look in the image, cheeks flushed and eyes bleary. She’s remembering how proud she is of him when she is startled back to her senses as someone knocks on the door.

“Coming!” she yells, putting herself back together.

 

The next morning she opens up the photos app and it’s still on that photo. The one of him and her with their whole life ahead of them. It’s not an Olympic photo, no. It’s Tessa and Scott on the Canadian Junior Nationals podium, just fourteen and sixteen. Her dress is poofy and his suit is tailored and they’re so damned naive. She opens her twitter to a surge of negativity and it singes at the edges of the happy memory like a prod from a poker each time. She’s so damned proud of him, she loves him like her heart is constantly about to burst and they better all know it.

 

Relaxed, even radiant, she beams with pride and joy at the walk of fame event. She had expected the girlfriend to be there, that’s fine, it was still their night. Cara baby sits the girlfriend, they do interviews, they are called Canada’s sweethearts, they play the good children once again. It feels good. It feels right.

 

He blindsides her during the speech.

“We did it kiddo!” And he laughs and she beams and their hands meet in a high-five. She holds on as warmth and comfort flow through and between them. Their touch is the fresh summer rain that can wash over any moment and make it anew and she feels his pulse slow as she pulls his hand to her heart. They are closer than they have been all night as she slides her other arm around his shoulder and leans in. This moment is just for them.

 

She is ever so slightly amused. The girlfriend has worn heels she cannot walk in, bright red lipstick, sparkles, and less clothing than she’s ever seen her (granted, she has only seen her less than a dozen times in total). Does the girlfriend not understand? I’m not here to fight you. He will not like you more for standing out. It only makes me more certain.

 

The two of them sit opposite over the gala dinner and she briefly wonders how purposeful the seating plan was? Is he avoiding her on purpose? Her mother is to her right and he is directly opposite. It is a non issue, she decides. Halfway through the evening, though, he looks over her desert and meets her gaze. His eyebrows furrow slightly and he smiles a soft smile only for her, eyes shining with it and slightly teary. He’s not sure he could trust himself to sit next to her. Her facial features soften in return, she’s carefree, glowing, and radiating happiness; he thinks that she’s never looked more beautiful.

 

They’re going to be just fine. Each breath in his arms is deep and taken gladly. She’s as calm as ever. He loves her. She loves him. They have always found their way back to one another, so why should this be any different?

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @LazarusPitHotTub (same name!)


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